


Romantic Advances

by DetectiveJoan



Category: The Bright Sessions (Podcast)
Genre: Bisexuality, Developing Relationship, F/F, F/M, Girls Kissing, Polyamory, Post-Finale, Workplace Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-07
Updated: 2018-08-07
Packaged: 2019-06-23 10:53:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15604719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DetectiveJoan/pseuds/DetectiveJoan
Summary: “Well, you know what they say is the best way to get over someone,” Owen says in a complete deadpan.Sam just gives him a quizzical look.“Get under someone else,” he supplies, and despite the fact that Joan immediately inhales about half her drink, she doesn’t miss the way he pointedly inclines his head in her direction, nor how wide-eyed Sam gets at the implication.





	Romantic Advances

**Author's Note:**

> I posted the first half of this to [tumblr](http://detectivejoan.tumblr.com/post/174976872019/cheeseburgers4leiajaneway-replied-to-your) ages ago, sort of based on a prompt from cheeseburgers4leiajaneway, who is honestly a saint for responding so patiently to my preoccupation with Sam/Joan in the wake of the finale.
> 
> All the typical content warnings for age difference and for consent issues with Joan being Sam's former therapist -- and now her boss!

They’re in the middle of an office warming party that consists solely of the two of them, Owen, and his gift of a craft beer that Sam seems to enjoy much more than scotch, when Joan asks Sam how she’s doing with Mark being gone.

“I don’t know,” Sam says. “I’ve never broken up with anyone before? I mean, I’ve never even dated anyone before. And I know it was totally mutual, and I know that still being as concerned with him as I am probably isn’t healthy — which is just more evidence of why it was a really good idea for us to break up — but I just. I don’t know how to not be thinking about him all the time.”

“Well, you know what they say is the best way to get over someone,” Owen says in a complete deadpan.

Sam just gives him a quizzical look.

“Get under someone else,” he supplies, and despite the fact that Joan immediately inhales about half her drink, she doesn’t miss the way he pointedly inclines his head in her direction, nor how wide-eyed Sam gets at the implication.

 

/ / /

 

“Sure,” Joan says when Owen pops into her office at 4:49 on a Thursday and asks if she has a second to talk. “I just heard back from Rachel Summers in District 1 and I —”

“Not about the reclassifications,” he says. “I wanted to speak with you about something personal.”

She stops drafting the reply email. “Okay.”

“About dating,” he specifies, and she sighs like she’d been waiting for it.

“For the love of God, Owen —”

“Oh, no,” he says, cool as you please apart from the smile he's failing to suppress. “Not you and I. Me and Sam.”

“You,” she echoes slowly, “and Sam.”

“Yes.” He’s doing that thing he does when he’s excited but trying not to show it, where he shoves his hands in his pockets and holds his arms stiff so his shoulder are shrugged up high. He rocks up onto the balls of his feet.

“Dating,” she repeats.

“Potentially,” he says. “I’d like to ask her out, but I wanted to make sure I wouldn’t be stepping on your toes.”

“What? My — me? I mean. No. Of course not. I’m fine with it,” she says, wondering vaguely why her mouth suddenly feels so dry. “Why wouldn’t I be fine with it? And it’s not like I’m in charge of Sam. She can do as she likes. As can you. I don’t —”

Owen grins at her very slowly.

“Oh hush,” she says, and her voice cracks on it.

“Blockbuster or art house?” he asks.

“She’s never been to the cinema over on third,” Joan says. “And if you take her to something historical she’ll nitpick it afterwards.”

“Is that a recommendation or a warning?”

Joan presses her lips together and doesn’t admit that her favorite part of atypical movie nights had been listening to Sam shred films as the credits rolled.

 

/ / /

 

Owen takes Sam to dinner and a film that weekend, and he takes her to the farmer’s market the next weekend, and he takes her to an art festival downtown the weekend after that. Every date goes well, as evidenced not just by the fact that Sam keeps agreeing to see him again, but by the excruciating detail with which she describes each outing to Joan during their standing Sunday morning brunch date.

“You never told me about your dates with Mark like this,” Joan points out over pancakes.

“Mark and I didn’t really go out that much,” Sam says. “And, uh, it was kinda awkward talking about that stuff with you. I figured you probably didn’t want to hear about your brother’s love life.”

“Yes, talking about my ex is much better,” Joan says with a smile to let Sam know she’s teasing. “Am I allowed to ask whether or not you’ve — how did Owen phrase it? Gotten _under him_ yet?”

 

/ / /

 

“You can’t seduce me by seducing Sam,” Joan tells Owen when she runs into him in the breakroom one Monday morning.

“Don’t be crass, Dr. Bright,” he says, barely glancing up from pouring his mug of coffee. “I’m attempting no such thing.”

“I swear, if you’re jerking her around just to get at me…” she threatens vaguely.

“I like her,” he says sternly. “I don’t see why that would be difficult for you to grasp considering how much you clearly like her, too. She’s intelligent, passionate, well-read, well-traveled in her way, curious, and kind. I enjoy spending time with her. I plan to continue spending time with her, provided she’ll let me.”

Joan crosses her arms defensively. “Then why did Sam invite me to come with the two of you to the symphony this Saturday?”

“I happened to acquire three tickets. One might suppose she invited you because she enjoys the pleasure of your company, and I consented to the suggestion because I often do as well.”

“But that’s your date night,” she objects.

“Oh?” he asks mildly. “So you declined the invitation?”

She concentrates on not grinding her teeth. “No.”

“Then I suppose it’s a date,” he says, trying to hide his slight smile in a sip of coffee.

 

/ / /

 

“But she’s our subordinate,” Joan rejoins five hours later, leaning through the doorway to his office.

Owen considers her for a long time. “As you were mine. Once.”

“And we all saw how well that turned out,” she bites.

“Frankly, I don’t think the issue between us was _office hierarchy,”_ he says patiently. “And if it were, then it would have been resolved long ago.”

She puts up a hand like a stop signal. “Don’t push it.”

“Oh come on, Joan,” he says, leaning back in his chair and looking like he’s restraining himself from physically throwing his hands up at her. “I know you like her. I know you don’t have an issue with polyamory, or with dating a coworker, or with her being your former patient. What’s the problem?”

Joan pinches the bridge of her nose and hates herself for figuring out the answer to that question at the exact same second that Owen does.

“Ohhhhh,” he says slowly as it clicks. “This is about Mark.”

“Damn,” she mutters, more to herself.

 

/ / /

 

“Ask me what time zone I’m in,” Mark says instead of hello when Joan finally collects the confidence to call him the next morning.

“Um,” she says, desperately trying to remember where he’d said he was heading when they’d spoken a week earlier.

“Jesus, it’s early,” he mumbles before she can even take a guess. “Is this an emergency? Is something on fire?”

“Uh,” she says again, eloquently. “No. Sorry, Mark, I didn’t realize. I’ll just. Call back later.”

She doesn’t hang up; there’s a shuffling sound on his end of the line and then he sighs. “No, it’s fine, Joanie. I’m up now. What do you need?”

“I’m not sure how to say this.”

“Like ripping off a bandage,” he advises, and then yawns.

She closes her eyes. “Okay. I think Sam asked me out on a date.”

She braces for impact, but he just snorts half a laugh at her and says, “Oh, finally?”

“I — what?” Joan has to spend a moment collecting her jaw from the floor. “She told you?”

“Uh, yeah, like a month ago,” he says. “Asked for my, I dunno, my blessing or permission or whatever. And I would’ve told _you,_ but I got the sense it was gonna take her a while to build up the nerve. I mean, I love her, but Sam’s a bit of a slow mover on this kind of thing.”

“This kind of thing,” she repeats. “Meaning...romantic advances.”

“No one besides the two of you would use that phrase, but yeah.”

“And you’re okay with it?”

“Yeah,” Mark says again. “Totally and completely cool. Is that what you called to hear?”

Joan makes a face; she has no idea what she wanted him to say, but this certainly wasn’t what she was expecting.

“You’re being rather magnanimous,” she accuses, and narrows her eyes even though he isn’t there to see it. “Do I want to know what happened between the two of you to make you so okay with this?”

He makes a sound of mock pain. “You wound me. Can’t it just be that I love you both and think you could be happy together?”

Joan is prepared to spend a lot of time waiting him out — she’s very skilled at expectant silences — but when she doesn’t answer, he quickly says, “Cut the nosy big sister bit, okay? Nothing happened between us. We broke up and I moved into a tour bus for three months. It’s not like I exactly have room to be jealous from fucking _Seattle._ Will you just take my blessing and say thank you?”

“Thank you,” she obeys semi-grudgingly.

“You’re welcome,” he says. “I’m going back to bed.”

 

/ / /

 

“If I'm doing this, it won't be by halves,” she tells Owen. She's resisting the urge to pace circles around his office by rocking her weight back on the points of her heels instead.

“I expected nothing less,” he says, somewhere between supportive and nonchalant.

“And I’m driving. I’ll pick you up at seven?”

“Six thirty if you want to get me before Sam,” he suggests.

“Seven,” she decides. “ _And_ I’m buying her flowers.”

Owen makes a noise of interest. “Are you buying me flowers?”

“Did you ask me out?”

 

/ / /

 

Sam loves the flowers, and fusses over getting a vase for them in a way that makes Joan realize that neither Mark nor Owen ever thought to go to the trouble. She’s suddenly much more comfortable with the idea of sweeping Sam off her feet despite the pair of them.

“You look amazing,” Sam offers when she stops looking at the flowers long enough to notice how Joan’s dressed for the occasion.

“Thank you,” Joan smiles. “You look…”

Sam is wearing a pair of sweatpants covered in paint stains and a tank top with a hole in the seam, but her hair is twisted and pinned up in an elaborate style, and she’s wearing more makeup than Joan has ever seen her in.

“I know,” she sighs. “I swear I’ll be ready in, like, five minutes.”

It takes her ten minutes, and then Joan has to take some time to exclaim over Sam’s exquisite earrings. She can’t resist the urge to reach up and run her thumb over the jewels.

“I don’t think they’re _real_ diamonds,” Sam says, tilting her head to the side so Joan’s hand comes to rest smoothly against the side of her neck. “I found them in my mom’s things years ago, but I’ve never had an excuse to wear them.”

“They’re beautiful,” Joan says.

She doesn’t have time to add that Sam is beautiful, too, before Sam leans forward and kisses her.

“Wow,” Joan breathes when she pulls back.

Someday she’s going to figure out exactly what it is about Sam that makes her so inarticulate.

“Was that okay?” Sam asks quietly.

“Well, I think the kissing typically comes at the end of the date,” she manages.

Sam studies her face for a moment. “You’re teasing me.”

“Indeed I am.”

Sam takes a step closer and wraps her hands around Joan's waist. “I wanted to make sure my intentions were clear,” she says.

Joan brushes her thumb along the line of Sam’s jaw, and pulls her in again. “I wasn’t complaining.”

 

/ / /

 

By the time they pull up to Owen’s, they’re nearly twenty minutes late.

“Is this the part where I’m supposed to make a comment disparaging the predictable tardiness of women?” he asks, sliding into the backseat after Joan opens the door for him.

“It’s the part where you’re supposed to tell Joan how nice she looks,” Sam corrects, looking at him by way of the rearview mirror.

“You look very nice,” he obeys, but with something of a smirk. “Is that the dress I bought you on our first anniversary?”

Joan brushes cat hair off the skirt. “Sometimes you have good taste,” she admits.

**Author's Note:**

> i'm detectivejoan and you can come yell with me about podcast ladies smooching on [tumblr](http://detectivejoan.tumblr.com/)


End file.
